


Run It Again

by BakerKeen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John slid another slick finger into him, and Sherlock whimpered helplessly as they brushed his prostate. Slowly, slowly, damnably slowly, John drew his fingers out and then gently, gently, damnably gently slid them back in. Sherlock’s skin was covered in gooseflesh and he was pulling his own hair, taking shaky breaths as John nosed the side of his cock. “Alright?” John asked, tracing his tongue lightly over the path his nose had just taken.</p><p>Sherlock’s hips jerked in spite of himself. “Please,” he begged. He was going to die if John didn’t take him soon. Fingers wiggled inside him, and Sherlock arched and pushed against them. “John, I need –“ </p><p>John’s pupils were blown wide and he was pleased, Sherlock could tell, so pleased that he had dismantled Sherlock so thoroughly. He licked another stripe up Sherlock’s cock. “You’re doing so well, love. God, you look <em>gorgeous</em> wrapped around my fingers. Love watching you tremble and writhe.” He brushed Sherlock’s prostate once again, for emphasis, and grinned at Sherlock’s needy whine and bucking hips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run It Again

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to cap off my bottle of wine with a cocktail and then write some porny fic. This is what happened. Could stand to be fleshed out a little more but in the interest of being true to the experiment I think I'll leave it like this. ;)

Raw, primal need was thrumming in Sherlock’s veins. It still took him by surprise, a month into his relationship with John. He’d never bothered having sex while sober before – cocaine made everything feel so much more intense and immediate that he assumed it would be as boring as everything else was without it – but this, this, _this_ , this was not merely the now-familiar influx of serotonin and dopamine caressing his brain. He needed to claim, be claimed, know that John was in him and he was in John and dear _God_ , how had he ever thought that this could be boring, that _John_ could be boring??

John slid another slick finger into him, and Sherlock whimpered helplessly as they brushed his prostate. Slowly, slowly, damnably slowly, John drew his fingers out and then gently, gently, damnably gently slid them back in. Sherlock’s skin was covered in gooseflesh and he was pulling his own hair, taking shaky breaths as John nosed the side of his cock. “Alright?” John asked, tracing his tongue lightly over the path his nose had just taken. 

Sherlock’s hips jerked in spite of himself. “Please,” he begged. He was going to die if John didn’t take him soon. Fingers wiggled inside him, and Sherlock arched and pushed against them. “John, I need –“ 

John’s pupils were blown wide and he was pleased, Sherlock could tell, so pleased that he had dismantled Sherlock so thoroughly. He licked another stripe up Sherlock’s cock. “You’re doing so well, love. God, you look _gorgeous_ wrapped around my fingers. Love watching you tremble and writhe.” He brushed Sherlock’s prostate once again, for emphasis, and grinned at Sherlock’s needy whine and bucking hips. 

Finally, John’s fingers were gone, and Sherlock heard the crack of a plastic cap being flipped open, and the squelching of John stroking the slick over himself. Sherlock scooted back, rolling onto his belly and tucking his knees under him. “Oh,” came a surprised voice behind him. “You don’t have to—“ 

Sherlock wiggled impatiently. “Don’t be stupid. I want …” He wanted to be claimed, to be filled, to be taken, to be redeemed. He wanted frenzy, and chaos, and recklessness. “… I want all of it.” John would understand. He always did. Gripping the headboard, Sherlock pressed back as John slowly pushed inside of him, not stopping until pelvis met arse. He counted to 10, forced himself to wait to adjust, then nudged back against John to let him know it was OK to start. 

John moved slowly, rolling his hips gently, making sure Sherlock was comfortable. He wasn’t. He was _desperate_. Sherlock’s body was taut, like an overwound violin string, and aching to be plucked. Pushing his hips back swiftly, he groaned in frustration. “Pleeeeaaaassssssse, John.” _Make me sing._

Fingers gripped his hips and finally, mercifully, John thrust deep into him, and Sherlock sighed through his parted, smiling lips. He pulled back out and nudged at Sherlock’s knees, pulling them wider. Sherlock obliged and before he even had time to steady himself, John had driven his cock back into him, this time brushing against his prostate. Electric shocks licked through Sherlock’s body and he hissed. “Yesssssssssss. More.” John snapped his hips again, and Sherlock dropped his head, biting his lip to hold in his moans. 

John drove into him, hard. “Like this?” he growled, shoving into Sherlock so forcefully that he moved him up the bed a bit. Sherlock groaned in response. “I see," said John, crashing into him once more. Sherlock moaned helplessly, turning his head to bite his own shoulder. “You want me to _fuck_ you tonight, is that it?” Two quick, rough thrusts punctuated his question. 

“ _Please_ , John. I need more.” Fingers bit into his hips, leaving bruises that Sherlock would admire for days to come. John pulled Sherlock back as he drove into him, taking him roughly, rhythm never faltering as they collided into one another over and over. Sherlock felt his blood singing in his veins and then his orgasm began swirling deep inside him, building and building to a loud, triumphant crescendo as his knees buckled and John slowed inside him. 

Sherlock’s heart slowed, and his breath regulated, and John’s firm pressure was sliding away, and then he was empty. He shivered. “But you didn’t finish,” Sherlock protested sleepily. Suddenly, danger prickled at the edges of his brain. _Something’s wrong. I did something wrong._ He rolled over, away from the damp spot, and studied John’s face anxiously. No sweat, his breathing was barely elevated, and his pupils were normal. Against his leg, Sherlock could feel John’s cock starting to soften slightly. “Oh,” Sherlock said in quiet surprise, as the data came together. “Why didn’t you say something?” He could feel his face flushing, but he forced himself to hold John’s gaze. John’s cheeks pinked as well, and he shrugged noncommittally, not admitting to anything aloud. Sherlock scratched his neck. “I assumed you’d want… I just … I thought you’d like it, too.” 

Confusion was an unfamiliar and wholly unwelcome sensation. Sherlock replayed their foreplay in his mind, closing his eyes to find what he’d missed. John had been eager about sex, had initiated things tonight, in fact. He’d teased and tortured Sherlock into a state of desperation, had crooned at him about how much he loved to watch … him. Specifically, _him_. His eyes snapped open, and John’s smile faltered at Sherlock’s stony expression. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, a bit stiffly. “I didn’t observe.” 

Now it was John’s turn to be uncomfortably confused. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock was growing cold beside him. “You’re not interested in men.” 

John barked out a surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, what? You need to reconsider your evidence, love.” 

Eyes shuttering, Sherlock spoke mechanically. “Oh, you’re interested in _me_. You like to see how I react to you. But you’re not interested in men, carnally, not really. You just find me fascinating. Quite flattering, really,” he spat. 

John’s eyes were serious, but he was smiling playfully, carefully keeping his voice light. “We’ve been getting each other off for a month now, Sherlock. I’ve come with you buried in my arse, which seems like fairly compelling evidence that I find at least one man to be carnally appealing.” Sherlock glared at him stonily, and John sighed. “Just do me a favor, and run it again. I promise you've got it wrong.” 

Sherlock sighed in annoyance, but acquiesced, closing his eyes and reviewing the data. John had liked watching his fingers disappear inside Sherlock, true, but he mostly loved to watch _Sherlock_. Liked to watch his face, to drive him to the edge, to see him unravel, with an expression that was tender, reverent … His eyes popped open again. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh. You _love me_.” It was almost a question, but he suddenly felt certain. John’s eyes crinkled again, and Sherlock knew he was smiling without looking down to check. “You wanted to see me. You didn’t want to fuck. You wanted to … you wanted to watch me.” Sherlock pulled John in for a kiss, hungry and giddy. “I’m sorry, John. I’m an idiot.” 

John smiled against his mouth. “You’re a genius.” 

Sherlock dipped his tongue inside John’s mouth for a moment before pulling back. “The two are not mutually exclusive.” He slid his tongue against John’s once again, feeling John’s giggle against his mouth. After a few moments, John began to respond, pulling Sherlock closer, deeper, winding his fingers through his curls. Sherlock could feel John hardening again against his leg and he reached between them, stroking John gently until he started panting against his mouth. 

After a few minutes, Sherlock shifted, arranging John so he was sitting against the headboard and then crawling on top of him, kissing John silent when he began to protest. Sherlock reached down to steady John and sank down onto him, holding his gaze and bending down for a kiss as he claimed him. John shivered, rocking up to meet Sherlock, who let out a contented sigh. "You feel incredible," he murmured against John's mouth. 

John _liked_ this position. from here, he could kiss and touch and bury himself deep. Sherlock moved lazily over him, letting John pull him down and murmuring quiet encouragement. “Feels so good, John. You’re perfect. This is amazing, you’re amazing.” 

John's hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of Sherlock's scarred back, gripping his thin, muscled shoulders, caressing his face as he pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. Sherlock was keeping his pace slow, almost lazy, and his own fingers were lightly rubbing John's face, occasionally ruffling his hair. Finally, they caught John's hands as they were tracing his stubble, and Sherlock entwined their fingers. He kissed John's knuckles one by one and then they just smiled drunkenly at each other for a long moment as Sherlock continued his slow roll of pleasure. 

Finally, Sherlock stilled for a minute, allowing his body weight to push John as far into him as possible. Then he craned his neck down for a soft kiss before breaking away, pulling John forward a bit so he could wrap his arms around him, nuzzling the side of his sandy head, and whispering, _"I love you, too."_

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, caressing his long back as he grinned like an idiot and tipped his head up for a long kiss. After another moment of savoring their closeness, Sherlock started moving again, this time with a rhythm that made John's blood sing. Sherlock tangled their fingers again before pinning John's hands against the headboard, pushing them hard for leverage as he sank over John again and again and again. It didn't take long for the pleasure strumming in John's belly to explode out of him, leaving behind a contented buzz and a heart still filled to the brim with joy. 

Sherlock lifted off, letting John fall out of him with a gentle pop, and tugged until they were both laying down. They both leaned in for a deep kiss, John's fingers tangling in Sherlock's curls as Sherlock's traced down John's side to rest on his hip.. John sighed contentedly, and Sherlock chuckled, realizing that he was quickly being pulled into sleep. “Don’ laugha’ me,” John mumbled. “Can’ help it. It’s the prolactin.” 

“That old line,” Sherlock teased lightly, stroking John’s hair and watching his face slacken. 

John huffed a quiet, sleepy laugh. “You’re righ’, y’know. I do love you. Always have.” 

Sherlock’s face broke into a wide grin. “I love you, too. Always will.” He kissed John one more time, then laid on his chest, listening as John’s strong heart slowed and his breathing deepened. Closing his eyes, he stroked John’s chest hair and drifted off into a perfect, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hereby declare that post-coital anuses are self-cleaning. Let it be written!


End file.
